


3 ounces

by mollynoble



Series: Winterhawk Oneshots [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Winterhawk Week, not AOU compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6923413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollynoble/pseuds/mollynoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>dog tag</strong><br/><em>n</em><br/>(Military) slang US a military personal-identification disc</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 ounces

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for day one of Winterhawk Week was MCU: a day dedicated to Clint and Bucky as they’re portrayed in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
> 
> Thanks go to Hrafnsvængr and Rachel for the beta and hand holding. 
> 
> I’m pretending Agents of SHIELD doesn’t exist here, or at least that Phil is really dead. AOU happens, but no Laura or kids for the purpose of this particular fic.

It felt like it had been a million years ago that he’d found them. After the craziness of gods in New Mexico, he had a relatively simple mission acquiring some intel on a perfectly human baddie. When he’d seen them, he had to take them for Phil. He knew he would be ecstatic to have them and wouldn't raise too much fuss about Clint stealing them from a terrorist's private collection. He’d had them in his pocket that day Loki came, he’d been waiting for a quiet moment alone with Phil to give them to him. Instead Loki ripped his mind apart and then things just kept getting worse, Nat was actually rattled, aliens in his city, destruction and mayhem. 

Then the world was saved and he finally went to find Phil, needing his hand on his shoulder to get him back to center, he needed his calm voice in his ear telling him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. Instead he had to stand there and listen to Fury actually being kind, telling him more gently than Clint would ever have guessed the man was capable of, the whole time gripping them in his fist in his pocket. 

Later, much later, he realized he should probably give them to Steve. He felt guilty, he knew it was the right thing to do, but he couldn't bear to do it. They had become his touchstone. They never left his pocket, he had memorized the feel of them in his fist. Whenever his chest hurt from missing Phil he gripped them. When his vision would go blue around the edges, when his hands would shake, or his breath would catch in his throat, they were the only thing that could calm him. So he kept them, he didn't bother trying to justify it to himself, he knew no empty excuse would make it okay. 

Time passed; he needed them less and less, but he still carried them. He knew Nat knew about them. One day he took a fall off a roof, no real injuries but his pants ripped and they fell. He was sure they were lost. After, sitting in the quinjet, an inch away from a panic attack, Nat strolled in, her hair still somehow perfect after a firefight, paused in front of him and silently held them out. 

Then SHIELD turned out to be Hydra. He needed them more than he had since Phil.. _what if Phil_... No, it couldn't bear thinking about. He had trouble sleeping. Lost weight. Nat tracked him down, told him who the Winter Soldier was. There was silence between them, her face calm and her eyes kind. He kept them. He started to feel worse now, keeping them from Steve. 

Wounds heal though and now he had the team. A team that was becoming family. It had just been him and Nat for so long, it was nice to have friends they could trust. When they found the scepter, he thought maybe now it really was time to give them to Steve. It had been so long now though, he wasn't sure how to explain. Before he worked up the nerve shit got crazy. Tony made a murderbot, Jarvis was some kind of androidy thingy, and cities were flying. The day was saved, but at a cost, always so much cost. Laying there, bleeding and sore, he covered his eyes. He couldn't look at that damn kid laying there. He griped them so tight it hurt, and knew he had to get away, out, maybe for good.

Retirement was good. Golf was kind of boring, but he spent less time bleeding and less people died. Then Steve found his friend, Bucky. Nat called him first, they only talked for a few minutes, about little things, how her bonsai trees were doing, how the repairs on his porch were progressing. Before they hung up there was a pause, he knew neither of them would say it but they both knew the other loved them. 

Then she surprised him, “When Steve calls you should say yes to his dumb ass. He’s in over his head and could use your help.”

He didn't ask any stupid questions, like why she didn't help him herself; she had her reasons and he trusted her judgment. If she thought he should get involved and back Steve, she was probably right. 

“Besides, he has Barnes with him now.” Her tone was...off.

“Yeah? So?” 

“Just, you two have some things in common and he has a fantastic ass,” her tone was clearly teasing now. 

“You're insane, that is a ridiculously terrible idea.” he spluttered. She just laughed and hung up. 

When Steve called, he said yes. There was no time for chit chat, things were complicated, loyalties twisted and lines blurred. Even in the midst of it all he couldn't help but agree with Nat’s assessment of Bucky. It was obvious he was hurting, he was trying to do the right thing even though it was clear he just wanted to bolt. Clint found himself sympathizing, seeing himself in Bucky, and he became desperate to help him get away.

He was fine letting the ‘authorities’ cuff him and drag him to the Raft, he knew Bucky had gotten away. He was less fine when they took them away though. Pacing the cell with empty pockets quickly became unbarable. He knew he was harsh with Tony, but he had nothing to grip to keep him centered. Steve came for them, and he figured better late than never. 

Wakanda was beautiful but he couldn't enjoy the sights. He spent his days perched high in a corner of the lab where Bucky slept. He held them in his hand, feeling the déjà vu. Last time he had watched over bustling scientists like this, observing from a distance, making sure none of them were up to no good, he had been protecting the tesseract. It had been a mission, he did his job, but he hadn’t been emotionally invested. 

This time he was. He found himself watching Bucky face more than anything else. Late at night, when everyone else left, he would come down from his perch and sit on a table in front of Bucky. The first night he had held them up for the sleeping man to see. Then he started the story from the beginning, leaving nothing out. How he found them, why and for whom he took them for, why he ended up keeping them, and then continuing to keep them. He told him about Phil, about Loki, about SHIELD, about Pietro. It took nights and nights, some parts came easy, the words would flow out of him like a river. Others parts were harder, took longer to say, like slowly melting ice. 

Once the story was finished he started to talk about other things. Telling him about his childhood, how he joined SHIELD. He talked about Nat, his team. He told him about Steve and how much lighter he seemed now that Bucky was at least safe. How T’challa and his team were working to find a way to get rid of his triggers. 

Then the day came, an answer found, excited chattering amongst the huddle of brilliant minds. Clint watched from his perch while the King and Steve were summoned. It wasn't quick, conversations were had, numbers were checked. He wasn't able to come down and talk to him that night, the scientists working tirelessly, Steve standing there beside Bucky, his arms crossed but his eyes hopeful. 

Finally, they woke him up. Clint wasn’t alone when they all watched Bucky open his eyes. It was Steve who got the first tentative smile, T'challa whose hand he clasped gratefully and Sam who got the first verbal jab. It was hours of checks and tests before he was declared fit to leave. He walked out of the lab, following T’challa and Sam with Steve's arm around his shoulders. Clint watched it all from his perch, he never moved or made a sound, but the last moment before Bucky moved out of sight he glanced up and over his shoulder. He looked right into Clint's eyes and smirked.

That night Clint climbed down and up onto what he now considered his table. He didn't twitch when Bucky appeared in front of him. You don’t have a Black Widow for a best friend if deadly assassins materializing in your personal space was a deal breaker. He looked at them, resting in his palm, for a moment before extending his hand. He looked up into Bucky’s eyes without a word.

Bucky took the dog-tags without breaking eye contact. He held Clint's eyes for a long moment before he looked down at them, ran his thumb over his name and serial number. Clint watched his face while a smile grew. Bucky looked back up at him. Then, surprisingly graceful for a man with one arm, put them over Clints head. Clint was startled by the familiar weight of the tags settling against his chest. For all the years he’d carried them he had never put them on. He couldn't help the little gasp that left his lips any more than he could help looking down at them glinting against his dark shirt. Bucky’s hand still rested on the back of his neck, and when he squeezed gently Clint looked back up at him. His smile grew in response to whatever he saw on Clint’s face.

“They look better on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [mollynoble](http://mollynoble.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
